My Guardian Made Me Replace His First Love

The kitchen island was made of white marble. Under the bright light, I worked on the tiny silver band with a small carving file.

My fingers were sore. I had spent three weeks shaping it. Enzo’s birthday was next Tuesday, and I wanted to give him something made by my own hands. Five years ago, when he brought me to this Tribeca penthouse from the Brooklyn orphanage, I had nothing. Now, this place was full of my quiet work. I washed his shirts, cooked his meals, and learned to like his dry wine. I thought I was happy. I thought love was just being steady and patient.

The private elevator chimed.

I set my file down and smiled, wiping silver dust on my jeans. “Enzo?”

The elevator doors slid open. Enzo stepped into the foyer. He was tall, dressed in a charcoal suit, with his dark coat still draped over his shoulders.

He was not alone.

A woman walked beside him, holding his arm. It was Alondra Ferguson. She wore a cream silk dress and high red heels. Her hair was perfect, falling in glossy waves over her shoulders. She was Enzo’s first love—the one whose name hung like a shadow over every year I spent here.

I froze beside the counter. “Enzo?”

Enzo didn’t look at my face. He walked to the island, his shoes clicking softly on the hardwood. He pulled a small foil blister pack from his pocket and tossed it onto the marble.

It slid to a stop next to my silver ring.

A morning-after pill.

“Take it,” Enzo said. His voice was flat. “You can’t have anything in your system.”

My throat went dry. “What is this?”

“Alondra’s father arranged a marriage for her,” Enzo said. He stared at the far wall, past my shoulder. “With Reid Duncan. The CEO of Duncan Holdings.”

I blinked. The name sounded cold and distant. “Why are you telling me this?”

“Because she isn’t marrying him,” Enzo said smoothly. “You are.”

The room seemed to shrink. The air grew thin.

“What?” The word barely left my lips.

“You will take her place,” he said. He still didn’t look at me. He checked his gold watch instead. “The veil covers the face. By the time Duncan realizes it, the papers will be signed. The Ferguson family will get their merger, and Alondra stays with me.”

“Enzo…” My voice trembled. I stepped closer to him. “We’ve been together for five years.”

“I took you in when you were eighteen, Clementine,” he cut in. His tone was brisk, like a boss reminding an employee of a contract. “You had nothing. I gave you a home. Now it’s time to pay that back.”

I looked at his eyes. I begged him, without words, to show a crack. A second of regret. A twitch of his jaw. Anything.

He didn’t flinch. He simply turned his back on me and walked toward the hall.

In the entryway, Alondra leaned against the wall. She crossed her arms, her red lips curling into a small, pleased smile. She looked at me like I was a piece of junk someone finally remembered to throw away.

I pulled my hand back into my pocket. My fingers closed around the rough silver ring. The sharp metal bit into my palm, but I didn't make a sound.

An hour later, the noise started in my bedroom.

I stood in the hallway and watched. Alondra was going through the closet. She yanked my dresses off the velvet hangers and dropped them onto the floor. Two large black garbage bags sat by the bed.

“This cheap polyester gives me a headache,” Alondra said with a sigh. She kicked a pair of my flats into a corner. “Enzo, tell the maid to bring fresh sheets. Egyptian cotton. I can’t sleep on whatever she bought.”

Enzo stood by the door, scrolling on his phone. “I’ll call someone.”

Alondra walked over to the nightstand. There was a small silver frame sitting there. It was a photo from three years ago—Enzo and me by the boat pond in Central Park. I was laughing, looking up at him. He wasn't smiling, but he had his arm around my shoulders.

She picked up the frame.

“Cute,” she murmured.

Then she opened her fingers.

The glass shattered on the floor.

I took half a step forward. “Stop.”

Alondra didn’t even look at me. She planted the sharp red heel of her Louboutin shoe directly onto the photo. She twisted her foot, grinding the broken glass deep into the print, ripping the paper until my face was torn in half.

“Oops,” she said softly.

My heart hammered against my ribs. I looked at Enzo. *Look at this,* I thought. *Say something. Please.*

Enzo glanced up from his phone. He looked at the shattered glass. Then he looked at Alondra.

“Don't hurt your ankle,” he said quietly.

Then he turned around and walked down the hallway toward the guest room.

He never looked at me. Not once.

That night, I lay on the grey sofa in the dark living room. I didn't have a blanket, so I pulled my winter coat over my chest. The city outside was quiet, just a low hum of distant traffic twenty floors below.

My right hand was curled tight under the coat. Inside my fist, the silver ring pressed against my skin.

I stared up at the shadows moving across the white ceiling.

Five years. I had cooked his soup when he was sick. I had stayed up until three in the morning waiting for him to come home from dinners. Two years ago, when a mugger pulled a knife outside that restaurant in SoHo, I jumped in front of him. I took the blade in my side. I spent three days in the ICU, fighting for air, while he held my hand.

I thought that meant something.

A question formed in the cold quiet of the room. It was small at first, but it quickly filled my head.

*Was any of it real?*

I closed my eyes. The silver dug harder into my palm, but I didn't let go.

I didn't have an answer yet. But the question was there now, and it wasn't going away.